


Historically Inaccurate

by stonerjohnlaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Character(s) of Color, M/M, Non-binary character, Race and Class Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerjohnlaurens/pseuds/stonerjohnlaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spring break trip up to New York, some revelations, a musical with a grammy-award winning soundtrack.</p><p>John's excited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [MajorMinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorMinor/gifts).



> I don't really like reincarnation AUs...at least I didn't think I did.
> 
> Yet another series to procrastinate on, whoopee!

“Dude, why’d you even go to school down there?”

“I dunno, man, I just…” John ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to sound too desperate, but he needed to get out of South Carolina for the break. He said he’d go to Clemson because his dad wanted him to, it’s economically the way to go, he thought he was being _smart—_

“Look, Marie was gonna stay for the break, but I suppose you could crash on the couch if you don’t mind the space?”

“Marie? That your girlfriend?”  

“ _Partner._ ”

“Right, sorry. Can’t wait to meet them, bro. Text me the address, I’ll be in on Monday.”

“Monday?”

“I only have enough money for the bus. 16 hours at least.”

“Aw, man. Well, we’re here whenever!”

John thanked his friend and hung up the phone. He was going to New York!

“Who was that, sweetheart?” A shrill-yet-comforting voice called from the kitchen. John nearly jumped at the sudden call. She had to have been eavesdropping.

“Just a friend, mom. Don’t think I’ll be able to stick around for Spring Break, I’m gonna go visit him.”

“Johnathan Lawson, are you serious? You’re away in school all year, barely even see us for Christmas, and now you’re running off on us again?” His mother frowns. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t care for me or your father.”

John scoffed at this and kissed her cheek. He adored his parents, his home, and his life here. It’s the physical state South Carolina he can’t stand.

He got into a plethora of colleges, from Furman to Wofford. He had just about every in-state college knocking at his door, begging him to stay in the Palmetto state to pursue a degree on their dime. He applied for two out-of-state colleges just to see if he’d get in, Georgia Tech and Columbia University. The first was just a “why not” type of application, they offered to waive his fee if he applied. He was promptly rejected. The latter however…

Columbia University…it’s not a real place. Not in his mind. Completely unattainable. Unlike a lot of South Carolinians, he didn’t come from Old Money. His shoddy little home was made to hold himself, his mother, his father, and occasionally his older sister if she ever had a vacation from The College of Charleston. No more, no less. He was never pressured, nor expected, to leave the borders of the state, not even for higher education.

The closest he ever saw himself to Columbia was the capital of South Carolina.

Then the acceptance letter came in.

“They let you in ‘cuz you’re Latino, dork.” His sister had joked, but even she couldn’t hide her true feelings behind humor in this moment. John got into Columbia University. In _New York City._

His family took him out for a nice celebratory dinner – Golden Corral, pricey for their budget – and his mother was in tears before her second helping of sweet rolls. He was so happy in that moment. So happy.

But, one day, he happened upon his mother crying again. This time, it was over expenses. She hadn’t known he was home yet: he’d usually be in school but it was a half-day. He entered the house quietly and saw her, distraught and flush-faced, crying with her head to the table. He asked her what was wrong, and she quickly faked a smile to obscure her melancholy.

“Nothing, dear, it’s nothing.” She claimed. She had a hand protecting whatever paper she wept over, but John read it. She printed out the expenses of Columbia, room and board included. Nearby this, it was her pink slip.

She was just fired from her job. Her job of five years, they just fired her.

His announcement that he was going to Clemson followed a few days after this.

* * *

 

It makes sense, he rationalized in his mind, to go to Clemson. Most of the trust funds they had put away for the Lawson children’s education were exhausted by John’s older sister. His father was an Alum, that’s legacy money. That’s like, getting money for doing nothing. Plus the school was only about four hours from the heart of Charleston. When he could buy a car, that’d be nothing compared to the journey to and from New York City.

However, he visited Columbia U over the summer just to touch the school that was so gracious to let him into the historic walls. The visit was exhilarating. He always thought Charleston was hell during rush hour, but the Big Apple definitely had it beat in that department.

And…every department, just about. The buildings were taller, the lights seemed to shine brighter. The city was far more scenic than Rainbow Row or whatever bullshit confederate monument they boast about now in Charleston.

And…

“Hey, there. I’m John. History major, Art History minor, concentration on Fashion Merchandising.”

The boys were _so much cuter._

“No way?” John beamed. “I’m John too! John Lawson. Biology major…” He ended the assertion as if it was a question. “Maybe a minor in African-American Studies.”

“Two Johns? Oh, fuck no.” Said taller John. “That’s not gonna fly. One of us need a nickname or somethin’, can’t have people think we did this shit on purpose.”

“Yeah, before they think we’re gay or something, right?” It was ironic, John saying this, but he mostly said it to test the waters. It was like a bit of a litmus test to make sure he wasn’t bonding with a raging homophobe.

“Oh, I’d hope not. No offense, lesser than John, but you’re not my type. And, I’m pansexual.”

John heavily reconsidered his decision going to Clemson.

“You’re really good at that, those drawings.” John remarked over sandwiches in one of the campus courtyards. Rising freshmen were supposed to gather in John Jay Dining Hall, but fuck it, John’s not actually going to Columbia, so who really cares?

“Huh? Oh, thanks.” Taller John seemed to go into a bit of a haze when his pencil hit the paper, dragging out gorgeous designs with every flick of granite, designs of dresses a queen would wear.

“I got a nickname for you, okay?” John scooted up closer behind his new friend to see more of the drawing. “I’m calling you Tailor Boy.”

“How original,” Tailor Boy deadpanned.

“Do you have a better name? What am I supposed to call you, Mulligan?” John laughed as Tailor Boy cringed at the mention of his last name. “Hello there, Mulligan.” He continued in a robotic voice. “Your depictions of wearable garments are quite aesthetically pleasing to my seeing-units.”

“Please,” Tailor Boy chuckled. “You’re too much.”

"But really, man, your designs. They're great. No wonder you're minoring in fashion merchandising."

"I was kind of forced into the clothes business," Tailor Boy explained. "Family ways. I hated it so much earlier in high school. I would've fucking -- shit, I would've enlisted in the fucking military if it meant I could stop making clothes."

"No one should be forced to adhere to anything they don't want to," John spat.

"Yeah, I know, right? But it's okay. Shit got better. I'm doing it by choice, now."

John put his hand over his to stop his scribbling. They made eye contact.

"I'm really happy about that, man." John says, and he means it. 

There's something in the boy's emanation, something in his aura, something that John trusts. It soothes him, makes him want to pour out his entire world to this complete stranger, let him know his darkest secrets and fears, his brightest dreams and wishes. It's almost suffocating, but in a good way. 

When Tailor Boy heard that his only friend he made at the school so far wasn’t even going to his school, his heart sank.

“You can visit any time, okay?” He told John in a rather tight hug at the end of the college visit. “Here’s my number. I have an off-campus apartment in Queens. You’re always welcome here.”

He must've felt it as well.

And now it was finally time to visit Queens.

* * *

 

The bus ride was pure hell, but he didn’t expect any better for a cross-country trip for under 200 dollars. He was bus-lagged (is there such a word? Someone’s had to create it, this feeling was like nothing else he had ever felt) and he was so ready to relax and have a week away from boring, seemingly-isolated Tigertown.

A 45-minute trip on the F train brought him to 179th street at around 6:00 pm. Now he needed to wait.

A Toyota pulled up to him with a lovely screech, accompanied with a chorus of blaring horns from the dozens of cars it cut off to get near him. He jumped and looked inside. The passenger door window rolled down.

“Oh, _putain de merde_ , Herc, he’s _fucking hot!_ ” What a character peering at him from the passenger seat. Their hair was flouncy, full of personality and probably just as full of products. Their full lips were curled into a smile that could illuminate a black hole and their eyes said anything but innocence.

“John! Get in!” Oh, sweet God above, it _is_ his ride. There was Tailor Boy, waving at him from the driver’s side.

John obliged, climbing into the backseat. The plopped his bags onto the sleek leather next to him.

“Welcome to Queens, bitch!” The one with the afro shouted from the front, cackling at John’s shocked 100-mile stare that resulted. Tailor Boy put the car in drive and made a disapproving sound in their general direction.

“Don’t scare off the kid before he even steps foot in the door. John, this is Marie, my partner. They use either they/them/theirs or he/him/his for pronouns.”

"I also answer to Gil, or sometimes Joseph."

John looked at both of them, confused. “Did they call you Herc, or…?”

“Oh my God, oh my GOD, let me tell you this story, okay?” They climbed over their seat into the back with John. Tailor Boy seemed unfazed and continued to drive like a madman (deemed normal in New York, John soon realized. He tightened his seatbelt after this revelation).

“So we went to see that new musical out right now, have you heard of it, Hamilton?" John shook his head. "It’s so good, oh my God. Anyway, we saw it, and it turns out one of the guy’s names is Mulligan, just like my Mulligan, you know? And we’ve been trying to come up with a nickname for him that’s not completely embarrassing, especially after Herc told me you were headed up here and you guys share a name. So like, Hercules works! He’s dependable just like the Hercules in the musical, strong like the Disney cartoon and/or mythological character…”

 “Except now Marie won’t stop making ‘Go the Distance’ jokes.” Herc grumbles.

“Oh, darling. You know every mile will be worth your while.” Marie giggles. John starts to laugh too, and Hercules sighs exasperatedly.

“Aaaaanyway,” Marie continues, their French accent dipping in and out of the conversation. “I love Hamilton. Very quotable, taught me a lot about this shit hole we live in, America, you know? I just wish they would’ve had people of color in the play instead of white guys. Like, I mean – “ They suck their teeth, mumble something that had to be French, and settle into the seat next to John. They're leaning over his stuff, still seatbelt-less. “I know it’s like, unlikely, but, c’mon, it’s like, 2016…”

“It’s not historically accurate, babe.” Herc points out. “The creator has to make money. Crackers aren’t gonna pay money to see us dance around for almost three hours. Doesn’t matter what year it is.”

“I know but…like, c’mon. I could’ve been Hamilton I feel like. Maybe even Lafayette. I can rap that fast.”

“They don’t actually want us rapping, they want to take the things we do and watch white people do it, then call it some kind of new trend. You know how this works.”

Marie slumped down into their seat, knowing there’s truth to their boyfriend’s statements. John smiled, despite the somber tone of the conversation. He felt so much like he belonged with these two, like their friendship was predestined.

John discussed more things with Marie and found that the two of them have a lot in common. For one, they're both far far left in the realm of politics. They both gushed about their sexualities, how they deviated from the "norm" in most delightful way. They both like Bourbon -- it wasn't a _non sequitur_ , the scent of it dusted the back of Herc's car -- and they're both STEM majors. Marie wants to be a engineer.

"I'll get my PhD in something related," They explained further. "And people will be all is it Mister or Missus? And I'll be like, no, _mon cher_ , it's  _Doctor._ "

The drive to Queens seems short with them.

* * *

"Here it is, the crash pad."

The apartment was small for the average adult, mansion-sized for a starving college student. Part of John wanted to ask what he did to afford such luxury so early in his academic career, but he voted against it, just grateful for Hercules' couch.

"John, good news, I cleaned out the storage room, so you can sleep there. Unless you really do like couch-surfing."

"I'll take the room, if you don't mind it either way."The couple guided John into his new digs, and he tossed his baggage inside. "Thank you guys again. I really needed this."

"No problem. Tomorrow, we'll show you around New York City. Get some rest, we're heading to bed early." Hercules leaves the doorway, holding Marie's hand.

" _Bonne nuit_ , sweet John." They called behind him.

"John reveled in the newly-found silence, silence in New York meaning distant ambulances and some varied jazz outside the window. Ah, his window. A nice benefit to being on the second floor, besides safety reasons, was that he could take in the world outside closer to the ground but not too close. He could see people walking around outside, see them pulling into their driveways.

8:02 pm. The sun's setting. It looks gorgeous. He opens his window to take in the air -- mistake, mistake. The air is smoggy and gross.

Something tickles his noise in the air and he sneezes, a bit too loudly. He hopes to himself that none of his temporary neighbors heard that. He begins to shut the window.

"Bless you," comes the cry from outside.

Goddamn it.

John delays looking out the window in hopes that the polite soul is gone by the time he looks out. No, they're still there. Some guy in a hoodie, standing idly on the sidewalk.

"Thanks," John squeaks out. He's surrendered, showing the stranger his entire face. 

The stranger slowly removes their hood, putting their long, black hair on display. They stares intently upward towards John, as if studying his face. 

"Whoa." The stranger breathes out, waves up at him. "Hi."

John panics, heart thumping wildly, and closes the window. He's heading to bed early too.

 


	2. tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hercules has a confession, The Sky Siblings come bearing gifts, and John sees his stranger again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is very late but Who Cares because Time is An Illusion
> 
> Just to clarify this is full-out reincarnation. Like, these people are completely different from who they were in their last lives. Also, they don't remember anything.

John woke up to the sound of neighbors nearby arguing. Loud, mellow Reggae music drowns out some of the quieter swearing.

 

He turned to assure that the window in his room was indeed close. Yep. Goodness, why so loud this early in the morning? John looks to the clock on his cellphone. It’s only 7:50 am.

 

He tumbles out of the piles of sheets, carefully tapping his socked feet to the hardwood. He’s been told by friends at sleepovers that he wakes up too early, and that when he does, he’s too disruptive. He doesn’t want to risk pissing off his new friends, so he makes the proper precautions. He steps carefully on the wooden floor, careful not to put pressure on a squeaky board.

 

He leaves the room he was designated to investigate. There’s gotta be a bathroom nearby.

 

He hears a shriek, a thud, and then glass shattering. Instincts took over, and John’s feet dart towards the source of the sound. He slammed open the door where he heard it from and shouted, “Herc!”

 

Herc snapped up from his position on his bed. “Fuck, man, what?” A strained moan underneath him.

 

Oh. Oh no. Wait.

 

John resurveyed the situation. He just burst into Hercules’ room, unannounced, before 8:00 am. Hercules was shirtless, the lower part of his body shrouded by tangled sheets. There was a broken knick-knack near the floor by the bed, and Marie is panting heavily below Herc’s…oh.

 

“I’m so…Oh….” John’s face was hot enough to boil water. He just met Marie hours ago, and here he was, interrupting their boyfriend’s fucking the life out of them.

 

Not really interrupting, actually. Herc hadn’t stalled his hips at all, and Marie continued moaning. Softer than the shriek, but not that much softer. John didn’t know whether he was turned on by Herc’s stamina or annoyed by the fact they were fucking while he was in the next room over, but his boner stayed either way.

 

“Oh. We didn’t know you’d be up yet.” Herc says this in such an indifferent tone, as if he wouldn’t stop even if the Empire State Building crashed down onto their apartment complex right now.

 

“ _Nous pouvons…arrêter si tu le souhaitez.”_ Marie managed, and wiped their brow. “ _Tu fatiguez-moi, Mon Hercules. Tu savez toujours exactement comment me faire gémir.”_ The latter part of this statement was said in such a sultry tone, it was damn near sinful. Hercules knelt down to kiss the toothy grin right off of their face.

 

“Mm, babe, one day I’m gonna learn French and I’ll know exactly what you’re saying with that dirty mouth of yours.”

 

John cleared his throat. “I know French,” he assures the couple. Marie giggles.

 

“You know, that reminds me,” Herc says, audibly pulling out of Marie (ew). Marie cringes at the sound and the sudden feeling of emptiness and settles into the bed. “We need to talk, Lawson.”

 

The conversation became so serious so quickly. Hesitation evident in his face, John muttered out a quick “okay.” He’s kind of at Herc’s will in this uncharted territory.

 

Hercules gets up, makes no effort to cover his naked bod, and towels off his sweaty face. Marie is still babbling in French, drenched in twice as much sweat as their boyfriend, their frail body starting to form an imprint in the bed. Herc asks Marie where his robe is, casually, as if he wasn’t just drilling them into their shared mattress. They point a finger, hazy still, to a pile of wrinkled garments near an Xbox. Herc thanks them and shuffles through the pile, ass out towards John – the man has no shame, and honestly, he has room to flaunt – and throws on a dark blue robe.

 

Herc escorts John into the hall. His hands are on the knot in his robe belt. “I know this whole situation ain’t ideal, J, but—”

 

“Please. I rather we not discuss it.”

 

“…What? No, no! Not _that_.” He starts to snicker. “I’m sorry ‘bout that too, I guess. But nah, it’s a bit more than that. I didn’t wanna show you so soon, but since you’re staying here for the week, I feel like you have the right to know.”

 

John follows Herc, still anxious, to a room in the back of the apartment labelled “Nursery.” He immediately fears for the worst.

 

 _Oh God._ He thinks. _They’re jewel thieves. Or child molesters. Oh GOD. They’re in the sex trafficking business and I’m going to have to slaughter them to get out. How am I gonna take both of them? Herc has nothing to lose, he could punt me over a fucking building. And Marie’s got like a whole foot on me. Oh my God._

 

Herc unlocks the door with a series of intricate passcodes and lock-shifting. The door opens with a beep and…

 

The first thing John notices is that the room smells really fucking good. And really familiar.

 

“You’re a BUDMAN!” John practically yells over the rows and rows of weed sprouts. Herc shushes him loudly and John claps his hands over his mouth.

 

“Say that any louder and you’ll break through the soundproof barriers we have up.”

 

“Rugs. You just duct-taped rugs to the walls.”

 

“It’s an apartment, Johnny boy, we can’t do any drilling. Anyway, yeah. I’m a dealer and a supplier. I keep shit on me all the time too, just in case I gotta deliver.” Herc walks in and adjusts some of the heat lamps over the plants and spritz some of the sprouts with a spray can full of what John hopes is water. “I wanted to tell you because it’s unfair to just assume you’d be okay with something like this, you know, so secret. I understand if you don’t want to stay with us anymore.”

 

“Are you _kidding_?” John laughs, hearty and hard. “I’m no stranger to weed, Herc. Trust me.” John thinks back fondly on his high nights back in Clemson, too strung out to remember who gave him the weed or who helped him pack it into his bong.

 

“Oh. Nice. Wanna hit some now?”

 

“That’s…that’s breaking at least three of the Ten Crack Commandments, I’m sure.”

 

“Hey, the man’s dead, that song’s homophobic, and you’re like family to me, my man.”

 

“…four.”

 

“Shut up. We’re nowhere close to getting caught. Do you want to or not? We got some shit we’ve been soaking for a few weeks.”

 

“What’s it soaking in, just water? That’ll mold up and the shit is really bad for your lungs.”

 

“Lesser John, I know a thing or two about weed. I’ve been in the business longer than I’m comfortable with revealing to you. Just know it’s soaked, no not in water, but also not in acid or PCP or anything really fucked. Just a secret recipe I came up with, totally safe, gets you higher than high.”

 

John shrugs and agrees.

 

The boys and Marie spend the day rolling and smoking spliffs in the room John sleeps in, bonding over their shitty classes and telling anecdotes as the day goes on.

 

“Last night…some like…guy….they were looking up at me from this very window.”

 

“Really, what did he look like?” Herc coughs and turns towards John.

 

John squints as if he can see the person’s face in the room he’s in if he strains hard enough. He recalls black hair, inky black, the kind that leaks from a broken pen you leave in your pocket too long. A nuisance, really.

 

“Homely,” He says after a small pause to remember what they were discussing. Marie laughs.

 

“That could be anyone from here to Jersey City.” They drawl with a laugh, words obscured by foreign dialect. John finds comfort in their voice, reminds him of happier times, learning French with his mother.

 

Herc’s phone beeps and he struggles to locate where the sound is coming from. Marie, not nearly as big of a smoker as their boyfriend, locates the device in Herc’s robe pocket. He thanks them with a kiss to the cheek and reads the text aloud.

 

“Outside with 50,” He says happily. “Nice. We have company.”

 

“Company?” John repeats, as if he’s a parakeet with cotton balls smashed into his ears.

 

“Yeah, I’m excited for you to meet ‘em. They’re very loyal customers.”

 

Herc waddles out of the room – how, John’s not sure. His own limbs feel weighted, heavy, and his coordination’s shot. It had been a while since he’s smoked this much, yeah, but not long enough that a couple hits can completely render his body useless, right?

 

He tried to get up himself, and doesn’t register he’s hit the ground until two seconds after the impact. Marie cackles with a sweet and soft _Tu t’en sors? Ami?_ And John faintly acknowledges them with a wave, waits on the ground for the room to stop spinning, for his vision to finally stop sticking.

* * *

 

John wakes up back in the bed he slept in the first night, and panic slowly creeps up his spine. He doesn’t remember getting into bed or going back to sleep.

 

“You missed out on most of the party,” A small voice says. John jumps. There’s someone in his room. They’re looking at him as if he’s in a zoo. “Eli,” they supply. “Eli Sky.”

 

“John,” He huffs. This person hovering over his body still covered in sheets is pretty, soft on the eyes. Their skin is pale brown, cheekbones high and rosy, nose wide and adorable.

 

“Party?” He says for lack of words to form an actual question.

 

“Not an actual party. My siblings are over hanging out with Marie and other John.” They look at John again, this time, more quizzically. “Where do you go to school?”

 

“Out of state, just visiting for the break. You?”

 

“NYU.” They nod. “That makes more sense, I never see you around this neighborhood, and my family knows everyone around here.”

 

“I feel like that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

 

“Not really. My father – ” They put air quotes around this. “He’s a dick, some weird white dude who wants to save the world or something, some kinda complex. Anyway, He’s my adoptive father and his company, Sky Inc., it’s responsible for most of this city’s gentrification. All the way from here to Elmont. It’s part of his job to know everyone around here, scope out potential families to prey on.”

 

“That’s…horrible.”

 

“Yeah, it’s gross. I like this little city here, Queens. The people are a lot nicer than the ones in Brookville. Or Albany. Or New Castle. We got a few houses around the state…” They trail off and fiddle with their hair. They look ashamed, as if they’re annoying John with their extensive discussion of their wealth.

 

Well, admittedly, it’s not the most fun conversation in the world. Hearing some stranger ramble on about their riches and having the nerve to be bothered by it in the slightest isn’t ideal, no, but something about this kid makes John feel alright around them. He doesn’t want to immediately jump down their throat and start ranting, he’s calm and content.

 

Maybe he’s still high? Who knows?

 

“Listen to me, just yammering on like we’re best buds or something.” They take his hand and start towards the door. “C’mon, come and meet everyone.”

* * *

 

 

The Sky siblings are the most dissimilar group of people John’s ever met, to date.

 

The oldest of the three is Alicia. She’s agender, and she’s the only one of the three who go to Columbia with Herc. She’s tall, just about as tall as Marie, dark-skinned and graced with kind, brown eyes. She takes John’s hand from her sibling’s and shakes with the grip of an enthusiastic politician.

 

John learns that Eli is the middle child, and they’re genderfluid. They’re the shortest of the three, but not by too much. If they were to grow a centimeter more, they’d be perfectly even with their younger sibling. They attend, as mentioned, NYU, and they want to be an astronaut.

 

“Kinda farfetched,” Herc comments. They ignore it and talk more to John about space.

 

The last of the siblings is Pete Sky, he’s the only binary sibling. He’s a transgender guy, though, a fact he won’t let you forget. He gestures to his blue, white and pink _Trans Pride, Fuck Yeah!_ bracelet through his introducing himself to John. His skin is light brown, lighter than Alicia but darker than Eli, and his deep brown hair can be described no less as a messy crew cut. He boasts about how he fashioned the style himself, just him and some dull scissors. Pete goes to Julliard (he sings a riff to prove he’s worthy of the school, because theatre kids).

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you three.” John smiles, and the three of them hum assent in unison. Creepy. They’re so different, yet so alike.

 

John barely registers that he’s smoking again. Fuck. How did that happen? His blunt is shrinking at an alarming rate and he watches Eli’s basically disappear into their mouth. Their space-talk is speeding up with every hit they take.

 

“Chill, E,” Alicia mutters. She puts her hand to their mouth and giggles, and her own blunt tumbles from her mouth. She rushes to grab it lest they start a fire in the apartment.

 

“Chilling sounds nice.” Marie yawns. They take a bong rip from a neon purple bong near their boyfriend’s crossed-legs and settle into their lap. Their eyes start to flutter shut. Herc absent-mindedly starts petting their hair and visibly relaxes. The others follow suit and they all drift into a companionable quiet.

 

 

“Hey, Eli.” John says after a good ten minute decompression break.

 

“John 2?” They chime back.

 

“You said you know everyone in this town?”

 

They make a noise of agreement. He shifts his weight to face them.

 

“Do you know a kid with long, black hair? Shoulder length, maybe? Looked Filipino, maybe Mexican? Wears this ratty-looking hoodie?”

 

Alicia stirs from her stationary spot on the carpet. “What color hoodie?”

 

John, startled, thinks hard about the question. He closes his eyes to conjure up the kid’s face again. They’re pretty far, and he’s not really focused on their hoodie or their baggy pants. He’s focused on the person’s impulsive wave, how their golden brown hand nervously twitched under the glare of sunset-kissed streetlights, how their eyebrow cocked at seeing John’s face, lips parted slightly to greet him, their fly-away hair getting a bit in the way as they did so.

 

“Light blue,” He decides on. Yep, final answer.

 

“AL!” Alicia and Hercules proclaim at the same time. Herc laughs and puts his palm to his forehead, while Alicia falls back onto the floor and laughs down there.

 

“Al?” John repeats.

 

“ _Ami_ , why were you not more specific when you told us? Alejandro is our friend from down the street. He goes to Columbia as well.” Marie says after a very long yawn.

 

Alejandro. Finally, a name to the face.

 

“And he’s Puerto Rican by the way. Don’t assume like that, you’ll be wrong most of the time!” Alicia adds in with a wink.

 

“That was the guy who was at my window last night. He looked like he was trying to look in the window.”

 

“From the ground? Dude, we’re on the second floor.” Herc scratches his head. “Who are you, Juliet?”

 

“Alejandro is cute,” Alicia says, matter-of-factly, to which everyone in the room who isn’t John voices their agreement.

 

“He’s weird, that’s what he is.” John huffs.

 

“You’ll probably get a chance to see him again.” Herc says. “He watches the sunset every night.”

 

_Yeah, that’s comforting. He’s a weirdo with a sun fetish. Whoop-de-freaking-doo._

 

“Maybe you should watch it with him!” Marie suggests, a bit too eagerly. “ _D'ici là,_ ” They add in a whisper, towards Herc. “ _Nous pourrions avoir le lieu sans lui_. _Tu pourrions niquer moi._ ”

 

Herc kisses their nose and rubs his thumb affectionately over their hand. “Ooh, you’re switching into French. I know what that means.”

 

“So do I,” John interrupts. “Because, once again, I fucking know French.”

 

The couple freezes with embarrassment, and the Sky siblings laugh.

* * *

 

 

Dusk. The siblings exchanged numbers with John and promised to see him again before the break is over. Today’s earlier shenanigans must’ve thoroughly humiliated Hercules and Marie, because John hears nothing as he walks past their shared room. Nice.

 

He goes into the storage room, strips himself of his shirt and gets into bed, pants still on. That’s all he really needs to sleep, right?

 

He looks to the window and he can see the sun beginning to dive beneath the horizon.

 

It can’t hurt, can it?

 

He gets up, opens the window, and takes in the scenery. It’s hard to see past all the apartments and buildings, but he sees a sliver of the yellow sun being swallowed in a sea of deep pink when he decides to open the window. It’s so beautiful, he thinks, even with the sky poisoned with light pollution.

 

He hears a cough under the window and looks down.

 

There he is, Alejandro, he presumes. His back is towards John, and his dingy hoodie is up. He’s sitting so still, as if he’s waiting for something.

 

He’s not _that_ weird, John rationalizes. How was he supposed to know anyone was going to stay in this room in particular? Herc _did_ say he does it all the time.

 

John must’ve breathed too loudly or something, because the figure below flinches and turns towards him. He stands to face John and grins. “Hi, there. Again.”

 

“Oh, you’re back.” John shouts from the window, feigning obliviousness. “What do you want?”

 

“You must be John’s friend,” The hoodied guy retorts. With each word he says, John can hear more of his accent trying to crawl out. He takes down his hood. The sun hits his locks perfectly and John can see his hair is actually dark brown, not inky black. He has a mustache and goatee to match it.

 

“Why do you figure?”

 

“I’ve never seen you around Columbia.”

 

“How would you know? There are 30 thousand people at the school, dipshit.”

 

Alejandro’s grin grows. “I’d remember your face, for sure. I’m Alejandro.”

 

“Oh, that’s rich, corny pickup lines now?” John throws his hands up over his head in irritation. “Did Herc tell you about me and this is your way with toying with me? You getting your sick kicks out of this?”

 

Alejandro cocks his eyebrow, the same way he had yesterday. “Who’s Herc?”

 

John sighs and decides to let up a little. Maybe the guy really is just clueless. “Forget it. I’m John.”

 

“Two Johns? Oh, fuck no.”

 

“So I hear.” John puts his elbows on the window sill and rests his chin on his hand.

 

“You visiting your girlfriend or something up here, or…” Alejandro asks.

 

John snorts at that. The notion of him having a girlfriend. Yikes.

 

“No, just, visiting other John and Marie. You know, Spring break and all that.”

 

“That’s cool, that’s cool.” Alejandro gives John one more genuine-looking smile and relaxes back into his spot on the small patch of grass in the miles of concrete. He keeps his eyes to the sky and, just like Herc had said he would, watches the sun’s descent and leaves.

 

Even with the nighttime cool setting in, John feels warmth all over his body far after the sun has set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Slowest of Slow Burns
> 
> (You can ask me about anything that Marie is saying in French if you don't want to open Google Translate.)
> 
> Are you ready for more of the author projecting on to fictional reincarnation amalgamations of the founding fathers and Hamilton characterizations of said founding fathers? Stay tuned.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Hamilton for Spring Break this year, and this came to mind.
> 
> twitter: @gayjohnlaurens  
> tumblr: @actualjohnlaurens


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